


Have I Got a Girl For You

by edibleflowers



Series: Putting It Together [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint returns to Stark Tower. Natasha fills him in on recent goings-on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have I Got a Girl For You

**Author's Note:**

> More het! I've got a weakness for this pairing, as is probably evident by now. Once again, thanks to lemniskate67 for her invaluable assistance.

It's late, really fucking late, when Clint finally gets back to Stark Tower -- well after midnight, at least, not that New York cares much about that. The tower's lobby is dark, though there's still a doorman on duty (who doubles as a security guard in the employ of SHIELD) opening the door of his taxi when he arrives. He gives the man a quiet nod of recognition and heads inside, duffel bag hitched over his shoulder as he summons an elevator.

He knows he won't be able to sleep right away, and that's fine with him. He'll take a shower, grab something to eat, unwind a bit. His rooms are quiet and dark, but a simple voice command lights the place up, and he drops his bag on the bed first, taking out the bow case and the quiver. Tony really had designed each room with its occupant in mind; for Clint, this means a handy little wallspace that slides open to the touch of his fingerprint. His weapons are all stored in there, except for the ones he took with him on the security detail. He hangs up the bow and slots the quiver into its place, then presses the button to close the wall again.

He doesn't know what it is that alerts him to the fact that someone else is now in the room: a subtle change in the air, maybe, a sussurance on the soft carpeting. He's got the doors programmed to allow entry to any of the others, though most of them are limited to daytime hours. Only one person has full access, twenty-four hours a day, and that's--

"Natasha," he says, tugging his pullover off over his head and then turning around with a lazy smile. Sure enough, there she is, the Black Widow herself, in apparently nothing more than a silky robe printed in rich floral tones. She's barefoot, Clint can see that much, not to mention a lovely display of bare skin above the overlapping front of the robe. He savors the sight of her elegant collarbones, so neatly drawn above the smooth skin revealed by the gown's opening.

To play down his pleasure in seeing her, he retreats in teasing. "Shouldn't good girls be in bed right now?" he asks, balancing a hand on the dresser to tug off one boot and sock, then switching to do the other foot.

Natasha's smile is remote, mysterious. He knows at once that she's hiding something. "I'm sure they are," she says, gliding to the bed to sit down. "I was looking forward to seeing you when you came back, so I told JARVIS to wake me and let me know the minute you got in."

"Aw, sweet." He lets only a little sarcasm seep into in the words, coming over to sit by her and finger the near cuff of her robe. "Pretty. So, what's the occasion? Did I miss anything?"

"Not much," she replies, but from the amused tone in her voice, he knows that to be an understatement. One leg slips out from under her robe to cross the other knee, and he has to look away before the sight of all that skin has him coming in his jeans. "What about you?" she asks. "How did your mission go?"

"Oh, the usual." Standing again, he tugs his undershirt off, adding it to the pile of dirty laundry growing by his duffel bag. "Wore the nice suit, had the little thing in my ear--" He gestures briefly with a flicker of fingers, indicating the standard coiled wire which was his least favorite thing to wear. "And, of course, nothing happened." He pauses, thumbs hooked in his belt, smiling softly at her; her hair is sleep-tousled, and it makes his chest ache a little: memories of falling asleep with his nose buried in that soft hair come back all at once. He turns away, trying to think instead of what he'd grab to eat before he slept. "So, you gonna tell me what really happened or keep me guessin'?"

Natasha clearly can't resist any longer, leaning forward a little, the robe gaping appealingly at her cleavage. "Oh, well. We've had some downtime, it's been relaxing. Thor came back from Asgard, he and Tony slept together -- apparently it's just something Asgardians do, they don't have any sort of hang-ups about sexuality. And then when he told me about it, I was interested, so I thought I'd see if Tony went both ways. Which he does. We had drinks and a _very_ nice limo ride."

Clint's mind goes utterly blank for a moment, and if he was distracted before, now the only thing in his mind is the image of her in bed with Tony. "Wh- _what_?" he croaks out, a hand to his forehead for a moment. "I leave for three days and come back to some sixties lovefest?" He barks a laugh, then, stepping back to lean on the dresser. "Jesus. Is Stark pumping something into the air? Dosing the water?"

Natasha just leans back on the bed, her hands spread behind her to support her. "I admit, I wondered the same thing. But then I thought, why not? If we all act like adults about this, we could all have fun. It's not like any of us needs any extra drama in their lives. We're all up to date on our shots and all that, so there wouldn't be any worry about catching anything. And you can't tell me you haven't thought about the others."

That makes Clint smile, his arms folding on his bare chest. "That's neither here nor there." Still... he found himself eyeing her slender bare feet, her trim ankles, the lean length of her legs up to where they disappeared under the silk folds of the robe. "I see what you're saying, though. I've been on mixed teams that ended up fucking before. It can be a... a fun bonding experience. Have you talked to everyone about it?"

"Not yet," Natasha admits, one foot sliding against the other. "I brought it up to Tony, but I still need to talk to Bruce. I'm sure Thor will be all right with it, though I'd like to make sure. And Steve's incommunicado right now, so we'll have to wait 'til he gets back. But I feel like it could be a very good thing."

"You're right about that." He allows himself to step closer to her now, padding across the smooth carpet until he stands before her, just bracketing her feet with his own. "And you, madame, are going to be _very_ popular." Clint's pretty sure he's reading her signals correctly -- the fact that she's wearing that slippery-silk robe with apparently nothing beneath it is a big fat clue -- but even so, he has to ask, tongue wetting his lips before he speaks again. "Any chance you and I are included in this... good thing?"

Natasha leans forward, then, reaching up; instinctively he takes her hands, drawing her easily against him. "I was hoping," she murmurs right before the kiss, and Clint grins even as their mouths meet.

It only takes a few more moments to shed his remaining clothes, shoving his jeans and briefs down together once his belt is open, and then he tugs at the sash of her robe to open it. The garment falls to the floor in a gratifying swish of silk, leaving Natasha utterly naked to him. Clint's mouth goes dry for a long moment before he presses himself to her again, arms around her, hungry and desperate now. In one quick movement, he hitches her up and she wraps her legs around his waist, perfectly balanced on him just like always; he stumbles into the bathroom with one arm around her, slapping the lights on and then starting the shower with verbal commands: "Shower--shower on, 115 degrees--"

Natasha laughs as the sprays all open, instant hot water pouring down on them, and then Clint's got her up to the tile wall of the shower, mouthing at her neck, inhaling the heated essence of her, something steely strong and intoxicatingly feminine all at the same time. Holding her to the wall like this gives them both leverage; she squeezes her legs around his waist, rocking her hips down, and he can let go with one hand to curve his hand on a firm breast, working the nipple in his fingers in the way he knows she loves. Sure enough, she pants, gasping, her head tossing back to roll against the stone.

"God," she rasps, "you always do that, it's so good, drive me crazy-- Clint, give me your cock, that's what I need, please--" Her fingers dig into his shoulderblade, and Clint is helpless to do anything but comply, shifting his hips up even as she lets herself slip down a little. And that's it, he just has to reach between them and angle himself upward, and she's pushing down and slipping on him as perfectly as anything he's ever known.

They've fucked in some real shitholes, some really nice places too, but Clint thinks this has to be one of the best -- at least, the tiny part of his brain that's able to think about anything aside from Natasha does, anyway. Here, there's space, an enormous shower stall and hot water that seems unlikely to run out, a bench set into the corner that gives him even more ideas. Still, it wouldn't matter to him if they were cramped in a tiny shower stall with the water running cold on them; the important thing has always been, and always will be, Natasha.

For now, though, he only has one goal in mind, and that's making Natasha come as many times as he can. He doesn't hesitate now, sliding a palm flat between them so that his thumb brushes into the damp thatch of hair, slipping between her lips and pressing firmly to her clit. She's so slick and wet on him, it dizzies him, makes him lose the rhythm so that he has to work to catch it again. It's worth it, though, to hear her throaty moan, her low cry of startled pleasure, and her fingers tighten on his back.

"Ah, you bastard," she gasps, "you know how much that drives me crazy, oh fuck--"

"'S why I do it." He grins against her throat, lifts his head to watch her as her hips quiver and rock, the pleasure rolling through her. A circle of his thumb, the edge of his fingernail just grazing the bundle of tissue, and Natasha explodes against him, crying out and rocking her head back.

While she's still quivering, he brings his arms around her again so that he can carry her over to the bench and set her down. The motion dislodges him from inside her, but as she lays back on the bench -- it's just wide enough for her to spread out -- he kneels and brackets her hips with his hands, thrusts in again, smoothly burying himself in her impossible heat. He knows after the first orgasm she'll be pliant and open, shuddering but still needy, and indeed as he drives in again she moans and reaches toward him, imprecations and curses on her breath. Clint slides a hand up over her belly -- the water sheening her, wrapping her skin in sliding light -- curves his palm on her breast. Natasha's hand closes on his wrist and she moans.

"Doin' OK?" he asks, because he has to.

She gives a raw laugh, her head tipping to the side. "Be better if you'd shut up and fuck me, Barton." 

"And what the hell am I doing now, huh?" He grins back at her, giving a hard grind of his pelvis when he's buried in her for emphasis. Her legs pull up around his waist, and Clint takes the hint, tugging her a little closer to him so that he can really thrust deep. Looking down, his head spins at the erotic sight of his cock in her, like it always does, and then her hand slides in between them, fingers easily slipping over her own flesh, working herself lazily. Clint draws in a ragged breath, squeezes his eyes shut, moans.

"Fuckin' gonna kill me, woman," he mutters. "Gonna be like that, huh? Let's see who -- who can get off first, is that -- is that it?" He knows he's not going to last two more minutes, not with her touching herself like that: if he knows how to drive her insane, then it's exactly the same in reverse. He slides a hand between her thigh and his body; she gets it at once, lifting her leg up and letting it rest against his body, his hand curved around her calf, her ankle at his shoulder. It's even better this way, he can kneel up a little and really push into her, letting the weight of his body drive him into her again and again.

"We'll go together," she gasps, her eyes dark and lost, and he laughs as he feels her shaking through another orgasm. This time, he speeds, flings himself over the edge after her.

Her hands urge him down, and Clint goes blindly, letting himself rest on her, in her. The water's still coming down hot on them, a miracle of modern technology; Clint listens to Natasha's heartbeat in his ear, feels her relaxing and unwinding around him. She gives a sigh of contentment, making him smile against her skin. "Even better than I remembered," she murmurs; her voice is throaty and husky, utterly familiar.

"I always forget why we stopped," he finds himself saying, and then lifts up, his heart thudding unpleasantly, to look at her. They'd never really discussed it, not then and not after. 

But she just smiles lazily at him, stretching her arms up over her head. "Because we'd never get anything done otherwise?"

It's the perfect thing to say, and he chuckles more easily as he gets to his feet, feeling limp and ragged. He offers her a hand up, and they make quick work of washing -- both of them having learned to scrub quickly, though the multiple sprays of the shower aid in that endeavor. Afterward, Clint tells the shower to shut off and they step out to reach for towels and dry off.

"First time I think we've ever managed to make it without the hot water running out," he comments conversationally as he dries off.

Natasha chuckles. "That does tend to be a thing with us, doesn't it? But I have a feeling it'd take a lot more than that to run out of hot water here." One towel wrapped around her, she's using another to wring out her hair, and she gives him a soft smile. "You know, it really has been too long since the last time we did that."

A balloon of relief swells in Clint's chest: relief, and something else he'd rather not name, too. "Well, you know, if you're serious about this... this idea, thing, all of us hookin' up... we wouldn't have to wait so long 'til the next time." He drops his towel into the hamper in the corner of the bathroom -- another thing he's seriously enjoying about this place, laundry service for the win -- and heads back into the bedroom with what he hopes is a nonchalant air. 

"I can't see a reason to say no to that right now," Natasha calls from the bathroom, and Clint grins to himself as he finds a clean pair of shorts.


End file.
